


Luke 1:26-38

by RiddleBlack



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gabriel is a shit and I love him, Gen, Mpreg, this is just dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 12:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiddleBlack/pseuds/RiddleBlack
Summary: Gabriel is tasked with delivering some news he has had some past experience delivering.





	Luke 1:26-38

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: oh my god what if gabriel appeared to aziraphale to announce his not-so-immaculate conception
> 
> I answered this ask with some head canons of my own, but the ridiculousness of the idea wouldn't leave my mind. And thus, I decided a fic was in order. I hope you all enjoy it! I'm afraid this is not beta'ed and I'm still getting over a bad cold, so if there are mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them. :)

It was a slow day in Heaven.

Not to say Heaven was particularly known to be a fast-paced work environment, nor was it necessarily a laidback setting. At its most basic level, Heaven tended to operate at about the same rate as a mid-range freelance firm with more clients than there were agents. And while during certain periods, angels found themselves rushing and rolling about to respond to earthly requests or file miracle reports at speeds far beyond human understanding, there were also times where such beings found themselves twiddling their thumbs or toying with new means of creation*. This was one of those times.

*How do you think the hoverboards became so popular?

Gabriel wasn’t fond of slow days. He didn’t mind a slow-paced day, plans in which he only had one or two meetings, maybe a minor miracle to perform. But days that were entirely encompassed by nothing made him… antsy. Not that he would ever admit it, of course. As an archangel, he was intent on appearing quite busy at all times. Celestial higher-ups didn’t have the leisure of chit-chat or goofing off. His role was very important in keeping Heaven up and running. He had much to do. He just had to figure out what it was.

Leaning back in his chair and using his foot propel him, the archangel Gabriel slowly spun in his seat to look about his office for the eighth time since he had entered. He took in the bare white walls, the glowing white floor, the opening that served as a door that looked out into the rest of Heaven, all of which looked quite identical to his office. All that differentiated it was a large glass desk and two chairs, one of which Gabriel occupied. He only obtained the office because it felt like it was something he _should_ have. After all, he was essentially God’s second-in-command. There had to be some means of emphasizing the difference between himself and all the other ethereal beings. He knew that humans tended to do something similar, so he’d imitated them, though he neglected to include all of that personal effects nonsense. Too cluttered.

As he contemplated going out to check in on the progress of his ~~subordinates~~ colleagues or just doing another slow circuit in his chair to pass the time, a memo appeared on his desk. He froze, knowing instantly who it was from. The memos of other angels tended to appear in a burst of lightning or smoke, or they were dropped off personally*. This memo came with no flourish, no greeting. It sat in the center of his desk, a crisp white sheet of paper folded perfectly in half. Gabriel straightened up and adjusted his attire. He doubted She was actually watching, but it was best not to leave these things to chance. Slowly, he reached out, unfolded the paper, and began to read.

*Gabriel knew this was just for the sake of getting some face time in with him. He tolerated it for the sake of keeping up morale. At least if it was Sandalphon, he’d have a joke or some new gossip to share with the message.

He frowned. He read it again. No, no, that couldn’t possibly be—Wait, he wasn’t doubting Her, obviously, it was his eyes he was doubting. Forcing himself to blink, he read the memo for a third time, going over each word, as if to catch them changing. The message remained the same.

Casting the paper aside, Gabriel steepled his fingers together and stared out onto the rest of Heaven. Aside from God, he was the only one with this information. For now, of course. After all, the whole point of the memo was to tell him to _deliver_ the news. If he’d been one to come up with jokes, he would have called Sandalphon and Uriel in to share his clever sense of word play. He contemplated the implications, trying not to lean to heavily towards questioning. Ineffability and all.

He knew Aziraphale had essentially gone rogue. That stint with the holy fire had been evidence enough. Gabriel wasn’t sure what he was at this point, though he certainly wasn’t an angel. Not completely, anyway. And because of what had happened, Heaven had decided it would be best to put a little distance between itself and the former Angel of the Eastern Gate, assuring him that no, memos and reports were not necessary, don’t call us, we’ll call you, etc. Since then, there’d been nothing from Aziraphale and no one had felt the need to check in. Until now.

Gabriel’s eyes flicked back towards the paper. He didn’t realize the angel had gone this far. This wasn’t just going native. This wasn’t even human.

He thought back to his one encounter with the demon Crowley. Beelzebub had called him a traitor and Gabriel couldn’t see himself disagreeing. The way he and Aziraphale were so friendly and familiar was alarming then, especially as they worked together to point out the flaw in their apocalyptic plans*. Now, with this new information, the connection was sickening. He couldn’t imagine what Aziraphale would be going through with—

*Not that Gabriel would ever openly admit to such flaws. Angels may make mistakes, but archangels certainly didn’t.

He paused. A smile began to tug across his face. He certainly couldn’t imagine what the angel was going through. Angels were holy, ethereal, heavenly entities. Involvement with the infernal (beyond what he and the other higher-ups deemed acceptable, of course) was damaging and painful. Native or not, involvement to his severity? Gabriel wasn’t above considering it potentially worse than the Hell fire should have been.

Getting to his feet, Gabriel collected the memo and started out of the office, smile still planted on his face. He had a message to pass on.

* * *

 

The backroom was empty when Gabriel appeared inside. He rolled his shoulders and looked about, face momentarily curling in disgust. Heaven, it was cramped in here. How did Aziraphale get anything done? Answering his own question, he suspected that the angel _didn’t_ get any work done. Too busy fraternizing. Gabriel chuckled lightly to himself. The guys back upstairs would like that.

He looked up when he heard shuffling from the other room and folded his hands in front of himself. With as much pleasure as he was garnering from his, he still needed to be professional and courteous. After a moment, the door opened to reveal the familiar figure of the principality Aziraphale. He didn’t look any different than the last time Gabriel saw him. Well, save for the fact that he wasn’t breathing fire this time. Instead, he was sporting a pair of glasses and carrying a cup filled with something that smelled sweet. Gabriel resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose. Always with the gross matter, this one.

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped in the face of his [former?] boss, his free hand still gripping the door knob. “Gabriel.” He said, the greeting coming out more like a question, as if he wasn’t certain of if the archangel was really standing in his back room, dangerously close to knocking over a stack of E.M. Forster first editions.

“Aziraphale.”

“What—What are you doing here? If I may be so bold to ask…” He neglected to shut the door and Gabriel suspected this was in case he needed to make a swift exit. His smile widened a fraction. It was clear the angel had questions, concerns. It’d been quite a while since he had seen anyone from Heaven and now, the very archangel that had sentenced him to death by Hell fire was before him, looking threateningly cheerful.

“I have information. News, actually.”

Aziraphale frowned. “News?”

Gabriel stepped around an end table and onto a stack of forgotten price list documents. “Yes. From… a higher authority.” Oh, he could have _laughed_ at the way he instantly straightened up.

“A-A higher authority?”

“The highest.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I see. Well, I’m prepared to accept—”

He didn’t need to tell him twice. Gabriel opened his arms and his lavender eyes began to glow, his voice echoing throughout the tiny backroom of the bookshop, as if it was sounding not from within his corporeal body, but from the deep recesses of the heavenly plane.

“Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, rejoice! You are blessed among angels. Do not be afraid, for you have found favor with God. Behold, you have been blessed by the Almighty and have conceived in your womb a Child of the union between yourself and the Serpent of Eden. For with God, nothing is impossible!”

Gabriel reasserted himself and focused in on the angel. He didn’t move. His jaw was dropped, and his eyes were utterly vacant, unfocused as he stared at Gabriel. Said archangel’s brow furrowed. Had he not heard him? His considerations were interrupted by the sound of shattering and he looked down to find that Aziraphale had dropped his cup, the sticky sweet substance spilling onto the carpet and mingling with the chunks of ceramic. Gabriel smiled again. It wasn’t the frantic reaction he had been hoping for, but it was something.

“Well, I’m sure you have a lot to think about,” He said, putting his hands into the pockets of his coat, “Means of announcement, baby names, things like that. I’m afraid She didn’t really give much in the way of details like that, so that will be up to you.” Aziraphale still hadn’t moved. Shrugging his shoulders, Gabriel wound his way through the clutter, stepped over the mess soaking the carpet, and rested a hand on the angel’s shoulder as he stepped around him to get out of the room. “But don’t you worry. I’ll be back to check in soon enough, make sure everything is running accordingly. Looks like you may not want to lose that gut after all.” He reached down and patted his abdomen, causing Aziraphale to flinch, moving for the first time in several minutes. Blue eyes met purple. The archangel winked.

“Good luck.” Gabriel pulled away and went to exit the shop. He wasn’t lying; he would definitely be back. This was bound to be more entertaining than Armageddon would have been.


End file.
